


Back Scratches

by minervamoon



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25894240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minervamoon/pseuds/minervamoon
Summary: What it says on the tin (title).
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 37





	Back Scratches

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short exercise in trying to write specifically the Book Omens characters since most of the time I lean more heavily to their TV versions with spatterings of book and radio thrown in for flavor. I hope you enjoy it.

The sound of the front door slamming pulled Aziraphale out of the book he was reading. He looked up and over the back of the couch to see Crowley stalking in from the hall. Crowley shed his suit jacket as he moved, his shoulders rolling underneath the fabric of his red shirt as he did so. He threw the garment at a wingback chair in the corner of the room It landed there through sheer force of will. Crowley’s tie was left on the end table just before Crowley fell face-first onto the couch. Aziraphale barely had time to move his book out of the way of the demon’s head. Said head landed in Aziraphale’s lap. Immediately after, the angel felt the wriggling of long, thin fingers under his thigh. Crowley discarded his glasses onto the floor, then wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s leg.

“Bad day?” asked Aziraphale as he took in the artfully coiffed dark hair and the curve of the demon’s ear. He gave in to the urge to trace the delicate shell, starting at the velvet soft lobe and going up over the arch, feeling the uneven ridge of cartilage under the curl of flesh. 

“That’s nice,” said Crowley with a soft sigh. Aziraphale could feel some of the tension seeping away from the demon’s body. “But it’s not what I want.”

Aziraphale’s lips turned up into an amused smirk that was lost on the face-down demon. “And what is it you do want?”

Crowley turned his head just enough to catch Aziraphale’s gaze out of the corner of one aureate eye. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

Aziraphale continued stroking the outer shell of the ear. “I haven't the foggiest. Perhaps if you would ask…”

Crowley muttered something into the flesh of Aziraphale’s thigh that sounded vaguely like “bastard.” Aziraphale’s smirk turned to a full grin. His hand drifted from Crowley’s ear to card his fingers through the hair on the back of his head.

“Hey!” Crowley jerked his head away. “Do you know how long it takes to look this good?”

“The time it takes to snap your fingers.”

“Not the hair, ‘angel,’” said Crowley slowly, enunciating each word. 

Their eyes met again, and Aziraphale gave up his pretense. He slid his hand down, cupping the back of Crowley’s neck, pinching and making small circles against the bands of muscle on either side. Heat radiated off his skin into Aziraphale’s hand. Crowley made a pleased exhalation but was already opening his mouth to say something. Before he could start complaining again, Azirpahales hand moved to its true destination.

* * *

Crowley let out a sigh of satisfaction as his angel’s fingers moved over his shoulders; perfectly manicured nails grazed over his silk shirt. His muscles relaxed under the sensation and he melted into Aziraphale’s lap, his arms wrapped around one leg like a pillow.

Back and forth, setting off tingles of content pleasure, went the scrape of nails. Crowley arched his back every so often to get more pressure on certain spots. Down over his spine into the small of his back, then dragging back up to traverse the bumps and ridges of his shoulder blades.

Then, oh yes! Then the angel rucked up Crowley’s shirt and slipped his hand underneath.

“That’s the good stuff!” groaned Crowley, his toes curling from the scratch of nails on his bare skin. Not enough to hurt, but enough to be felt; enough for the sensation to linger after Aziraphale’s hand moved elsewhere.

Crowley’s body had completely gone limp at this point, a happy puddle of contentment under his angel’s ministrations.

“Better?” asked Aziraphale, his hand stilling in what Crowley took to be a threatening manner.

“Don’t you dare stop.” Crowley flailed one arm over and behind his head until it collided with Aziraphale’s book. He snatched it from his angel and propped it open between the arm of the couch and Aziraphale’s thigh. “I’ll read, you keep doing what you’re doing.”

Aziraphale simply answered, “Yes, dear.”


End file.
